


Synesthesia

by deltaTea (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Captorcest - Freeform, Dream Sex, M/M, Nooks, Porn Without Plot, Psionics, Synesthesia, Tentabulges, Xeno, ancestorcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/deltaTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If this was what happened when he kept an eye on you, you wish he'd do it more often.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <br/>A gift fic for titianArchivist and taterdemalionAmberite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synesthesia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [titianArchivist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titianArchivist/gifts), [tatterdemalionAmberite (amberite)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberite/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Wires and Stars: Initiation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/623170) by [tatterdemalionAmberite (amberite)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberite/pseuds/tatterdemalionAmberite), [titianArchivist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titianArchivist/pseuds/titianArchivist). 



> Sorry it took so long! School started up again and this sort of got buried under my research paper for a few days.  
> Sort-of-maybe-ish a fanfic of Wires and Stars, though I'm not really sure where it's supposed to fit in on the timeline.

   ==>Sollux: Be suspicious.

     He's been watching you lately.

     You can tell he's been watching you, and he's trying to be subtle about it. He thinks you can't feel it. But like clockwork, every so often the humming, closed-off echo of calculations that you push to the back of your thinkpan, the feeling you've started thinking of as his 'busy' signal, falters for a moment. When it resumes, it seems...well, the closest thing you could call it is 'tinny', but that isn't it. It seems forced, fake, like playing an old recording. You'd tried to ask him about it before, but he had denied anything out of the ordinary.

     You don't know what to make of it.

     You put on your headphones and, as if on cue, you notice the shift that means he's keeping an eye on you again. You disregard it, and plug them in. If he didn't want to tell you, fine, bu you can't help but wonder what it was he was looking for.

     You select a slow song to start. It's got a nice build-up, the bass coming in strong but not overwhelming. You try to let yourself relax and focus on that instead, letting your mind go blank for the moment and letting the music take over, the empty space filling up with color as the volume rises, the bass cutting in and sending little shocks of pleasure down your spine. Pleasant, but faint. Quickly growing bored, you skip to the next song, turning it up louder. It's more synth-heavy, an old favorite you know will push all the right buttons.

     The sensation is certainly more intense, the colors more vibrant, pulsing wildly with the music. Reds and blues, mostly, with a fiery orange taking center stage. There's a bit of purple in there too, and some green, but it's confusing to think too hard on where it fits into the picture, so you don't bother. You let it wash over you, your eyes falling shut and your back arching slightly as you hit the chorus and you're sent into a blissful oblivion, drowning out your thoughts with color and light and sound.

     As the song starts to slow and fade, you sigh. As nice as it is, you have little way of controlling this particular mental abnormality, and for once you wish your brain was more fucked up than it already is. The lightshow helped you relax, most of the time, but it also left you feeling unsatisfied, in a way. The sensations were pleasant, but they never seemed to run deep enough, they were over too quickly for you to enjoy them properly.

     When you were younger and just discovering things about yourself, the closest you got to erotic dreams were confusing flurries of light and sound and touch, like making love _inside_ the music. Listening to the right song was like some kind of religious experience. But sounds aren't generally that distracting anymore. You suppose you've grown desensitized to it, and on some level that disappoints you.

     Shaking your head, you sit up and slide the headphones down around your neck, hearing your husktop bleep. You feel him shift back, and the busy signal he returns when you reach out for him is genuine again. You sigh and go about your business, deciding to try and confront him about it again when you go to sleep.

* * *

     When you enter the dreamspace it seems...different. He seems different. You frown, overcome with the sudden and intense anxiety of waiting for the other shoe to drop. On the other hand, Astris himself seems completely relaxed, tapping his foot gently to some tune that only he knew. He looked up as you began to appear, and gestured you over to sit with him once you were solid enough.

     You do so, suspiciously, and he pulls you closer, humming faintly as he puts an arm around you. "...What the hell put you in such a good mood?" you mumble, though you certainly aren't complaining.

    "What, I'm not allowed to be happy to see you now?" He asks, looking amused.

     "I never said that..." you huff, exasperated. "It's just...I dunno. Makes me think you're up to something."

     "And who ever said I wasn't?" He smirked, scratching gently between your horns. You purr quietly despite your suspicion, letting yourself relax more, forgetting your witty retort.

     You aren't quite sure when it started, but the music seems to come from everywhere all at once, like the memory of hearing it through headphones is being overlaid over the whole space. You glance up at him in confusion, but he only smirks at you smugly, continuing to play with your hair calmly, trying to get you to relax.

     After a moment you decide to just accept it, and let him go on with whatever he was planning. It seemed pretty harmless so far, anyway. You relax against him, letting the music clear your mind. To be honest, you've probably earned a bit of rest, after spending the day translating ancient code. It was draining, especially when it meant periodic and often frustrating chats with Aradia.

     You don't realize exactly what he's doing until the bassline starts to thrum along your spine pleasantly, the feeling growing until it feels almost like a real touch, but deep under your skin and in your bones and you manage to whimper an 'oh god' but it's about all you can manage. You mirror the amplified reaction back at him, if only because you aren't sure if he shares this particular oddity, and you want to show him how it feels.

     The feeling flares outward from your spine, firing nerves all over, from your scalp, where he continues to calmly stroke your hair, to the bottoms of your feet, and it pulses and quivers like--you don't even know what to compare it to. It feels like starlight on skin and unbearable, burning heat and ice and thousands of things you aren't sure there's a word for in Modern Alternian. It _feels_ like red and blue and orange and yellow, and it _sounds_ like the throbbing of your bloodpusher in every part of your body and like the pulsing heat and the pleasure and the pain. It's like you can feel every molecule of your being as you're being wrapped in a cloak of nebulas and fireworks. You've never felt this so sharply before and you're overwhelmed, terrifyingly so, but you don't want him to stop.

     He seems a little startled by the signals you're sending him, as if he hadn't expected it to work, but he bounces them back at you again, amplified but somehow more distant. Like a pleasant echo, an afterimage. You think he must be trying to quiet his own pleasure from it, even just a little, so as not to overwhelm you too much, and you're grateful.

     The song goes on, and the feeling intensifies, Astris' power amplifying and enchancing it to reach all the parts you ache for it to. Somewhere along the line he began talking to you through it. His voice is a startling contrast to the other colors, but the way it melts and blends and curls in little wisps around the hot mess that is your thinkpan has you moaning almost as much as the way it resonates in your bones. You can't tell most of what he's saying anymore, except that he's purring words of encouragement, little terms of endearment in Ancient Alternian, in that lilting accent he slipped back into whenever he spoke it.

     Finally one or the other of you has had enough and the clothes disappeared, and you know your eyes are burning brightly as you pull him down into a kiss with shaking hands, trying to send him as much of your thanks as you can. He kisses back just as warmly, sending you 'safe' and 'warm' and 'Let me do this for you, I want to help you feel this' and more feelings you can't process at the moment but they're to a similar effect. He smiles against your lips, and he's just as desperate to please you as you are to be pleased.

     Time seems to move differently, more warped than usual, fast and slow at the same time and thrumming to the music like everything else in this place. You don't know when he started actually touching you, you aren't even precisely sure when you unsheathed, but the twin tendrils of your bulges curl eagerly around his fingers and it's all you can do not to give in right there. He keeps talking to you as he strokes your bulges teasingly, but it's all so much you can't make anything out of it but colors and vibrations. His bulges press against you as you lean against him, squirming, and you bite your lip to hold back another moan.

It doesn't take long for you to be seeing stars, arching your back with a loud, deep moan. Astris is two fingers deep in your nook, thrusting them to the drumbeat as he strokes your bulges and you come apart entirely. Your climax hits you sudden and hard, leaving you gasping and moaning and leaving the both of you tinted with ochre material. You lay back against him, panting and boneless as the music starts to fade.

     When you hear him give a soft moan, you realize that his bulges are still squirming against you, and you feel more than a bit selfish. You kiss him again, managing barely not to click fangs despite the awkward angle. You scoot off his lap and turn to face him.

     You kiss you way down, from his lips to his collarbone to just above his sheath, and he lets you without protest. Every touch is just as reverent as his, even though your murmured praise isn't quite as eloquent. He watches you, eyes glowing dimmer but with no less intensity than usual, as you mouth teasingly at his bulges, sucking the tip of one while the other curls against your cheek, leaving a thin trail of ochre-tinted material. You move on to the other one, briefly, before moving lower, running your tongue along the lips of his nook, teasing out another low moan.

     Encouraged by the sound, and hungry to hear it again, you lave your tongue along the lips again, before pressing inside slowly. You curve your tongue, starting to thrust in and out, and he holds your head between his thighs, trying not to buck his hips. In your mind, you hold out your best sense-memories of this, for him to draw on if he needs them. It's become almost automatic, anymore. He moans again, lifting his hips, trying to get more, and you gladly oblige. You stroke his bulge in long, firm strokes with one hand as you continue to fuck him with your tongue.

     With him practically halfway gone already, it doesn't take long to satisfy him. He warned you, his bulges writhing and tangling desperately, but you keep going until he's completely spent. It wasn't as though you minded the mess. You pulled away, licking your lips, before settling back into his lap, giving him a soft kiss. He smiled back languidly, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring words of pity into your hair. 

     You smile back, purring tiredly. If this was what happened when he kept an eye on you, you thought to yourself, you wish he'd do it more often.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And whelp, there goes my fic virginity. Look at that sucker go.  
> Sorry if some parts are worded awkwardly or the characterization's off, feel free to let me know what I could do to make this better!


End file.
